Our Crimes
by Winds of Water
Summary: The only choice they have to make is whether to commit the last crime against themselves, or that which forced them apart. Past Roy/Ed


I have absolutely no idea what to make of this oneshot. It's just one of those that came out of who knows where.

So I'm curious to see what you all make of what my muse did this time. I hope nothing too off the wall.

Enjoy? Heh, no, just kidding, enjoy the hell out of it.

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Our Crimes

The overcast sky was a slate grey, the most ominous of clouds hued on the underbelly with purple and shadowed in black. Tendrils of white light ran through them, but never extended down like the rain which was falling in silver sheets over the delicate and innocent scene.

Edward sat in the front row, next to the aisle. His white painted wood chair was decorated with white calla lilies now drenched and hanging morosely from their ribbons as the rain continued to assault them. His suit had long given up any semblance of dryness, much like the other wet and happy souls sitting in close proximity to him. Much like the happy couple there at the altar, consisting of his brother and his soon to be husband.

He watched them as if through glass. Heard the vows echo in his mind, but the sounds never translated to comprehensible words. He felt himself smile at all the proper times. Felt himself stand up to congratulate the pair with words he didn't hear himself speak, and give hugs he couldn't remember the sensation of.

Afterwards he found himself at the counter where the bartender had set up mixing drinks for the guests. His brother was off somewhere dancing, or something. He wasn't sure. All he was sure of was the weak wine in the crystal glass that seemed to be glued to his lips. And he only pulled it away when every last inadequate drop had been drunk.

He vaguely heard the bartender ask if he wanted another. He wasn't sure what he said in reply, only that it must have been to the affirmative because soon he was staring into the almond-colored wine on its slow-motion ascent to his lips.

Was it his fifth glass? Sixth? But somewhere in that haze of almond-colored wine a brown-haired figure appeared at his side. He hated the color brown, hated it. And yet he let himself be pulled away towards the frivolous dancing by this person.

Where were the harsh contrasts? Black against gold. Tan against white. Short against tall. It had become a muddled mess of brown and gold. Tan and olive. Short and shorter. A muddled mess, smeared only further by the relentless rain and the dulling effects of the inadequate wine.

He could feel this person's hands on him… were they slow dancing? Their wetness felt slimy against his skin. There was no firm warmth against the cold, giving rain.

He ached for the contrasts.

_Move on… should not be the first and only one… how can you be sure this is what you want?_

The words whispered on the river of alcohol seeping through his body.

How could he move on when guilt only assaulted him at another's touch? Why should he not be bound to just one? How could he be sure this was what he wanted? Was it truly all right for him to do this?

No.

How could it be all right to _him_ that he did this? He needed to know.

One brothel away;

The rain sluiced down the windows which framed a grey sky. But inside it was only those sounds of the forbidden world which only the desperate, perverted, and lost ventured. The sound of that dreary rain had no place here. Dreariness had no right to be in a place of pleasure.

But the temptation of soft flesh, silk, and other words beginning with that delectable 's' were lost. For the first time in his memory, they held no sway over him as that rain washed down like some mocking reminder of why he was here.

Roy watched through distant eyes as figures on him and around him sought out their fulfillment. He couldn't make out their movements. Couldn't understand their muffled words. It was all some sick movie reel that left him wanting of a better director.

Why had he come here?

It was blurry in his whiskey-dulled mind. But the blurs did not lack the smarting twist in his gut. The feeling of salt being poured into a self-inflicted wound.

He'd come here for release. Not from his body, but from his pain.

He remembered being pulled through that pain several times. The pain never truly dulling, and always returning with even more guilt. Was he really such a fool?

The whisperings of silk gave him his answer. The one that ended with that awful, delectable 's'.

How could he give himself away to something else, someone new? Even for a paid fumble. How could he, when he was already filled with someone else?

_If we're found… can we do this… are you sure I'm the one you want?_

They were words that whispered through his mind, carried on the rustling of silk.

As certain as the sun that paled to the glory of the golden hair that haunted his desires, he was sure who he wanted. But that which had separated them initially had reared its head to separate them now.

And his beautiful, perfect, dangerous other half must never know.

He'd been forced to drive them apart. And now his sun was gone, replaced by that grey, mocking rain.

He wasn't sure when he'd started moving. Only that suddenly that rain was now washing over him. Plastering clothing and hair to skin in a promise to chafe it once it dried. Clinging to him in the final twist, the final salt while it's hissing continued to mock him.

The sound of that awful 's'.

His world came to him in a distorted watercolor of grey, black, brown, and dulled green. A world lacking brightness and color. A world lacking that gold contrast that made everything more perfect. That color that put everything into perspective. What good was in this world?

He'd been forced to leave it behind.

And so now his steps led him away from that waste of the desperate, perverted, and lost. He could no longer be one of them. The sun had burned away his perversions, the absence of it leaving him desperate enough to try and seek out that waste, and his all-consuming love now lost left him just that.

Lost.

But his love could not allow him to seek the hands of another. Even in an attempt to move on. What folly. It would never be the right time for somebody new. And to seek it only felt of cheating, and savored bitterly of guilt.

It would never be all right.

No.

Never.

And so he walked the sidewalk of the grey's, black's, brown's, and dulled green's. Never expecting to see the sun again. They could not, for the sake of each other continuing to remain untouched on this earth by anything but this mocking rain. He could bear this pain pulling him through to whatever cruelty awaited, as long as his sun remained safe.

It was the flash of gold that brought his world into a focus it had not reached for four days. Everything became sharper, clearer, more terribly alone despite that gold. And he found himself drowning in those eyes, as he wished he could drown in the rain.

They stood there as the mockery of the rain faded to the background, leaving just them. Coming ever closer to discovering whether the next crime they'd commit would be against that which had forced them to part, or against each other.


End file.
